“And what does that entail?”
“I want a Ministry of Defense presence at all protests and assemblies. These people aren’t citizens—if they disturb Carolinian peace, we can deport them to Atlantia. I’ll institute a curfew, if necessary.”
“Hmm. Imposing martial law over a few disgruntled refugees? Surely the situation isn’t yet so dire.”
“No more weakness, Calix. You’ve been trying to undermine my administration for years, but that ends now.” Sacha made a harsh noise, like air being forced through a tight space. Uncharacteristic—he’d always struck Noam as the consummate politician, but now... “You can’t control me anymore.”
Lehrer crushed his cigarette coal into a metal tray and laughed. “That’s right. You have a crown now, don’t you?”
Sacha didn’t respond to that. Noam’s magic seethed just under the surface of his skin, and he clenched his hands, worried the static might escape into the ambient air. That Sacha might feel it.
After a moment, Lehrer said, “I believe some of my orders should still be in effect. Youdoremember them, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Not with this.”
Lehrer’s sigh was audible even from the bedroom. Noam twisted round in the dark and held out his hand for the scotch glass, finishing what was left of it in a single hard swallow.
This could only be a good thing. If Sacha started making mass arrests, it wouldn’t be long before Brennan’s restraint over the refugees fractured. Last time that happened, rioters burned a path halfway down Broad Street. Even the university shut down temporarily, all those bourgeois parents afraid to let their kids go to school near such hooliganism. Noam had been too young to join the protesters, but his father went.
“It’s beautiful craftsmanship,” Lehrer said at last, and for a moment, Noam didn’t know what he was talking about. But then he felt fingertips—likely Sacha’s, as he couldn’t imagine the chancellor letting Lehrer get so close—touching the steel rim of the circlet. Noam could picture the look on Lehrer’s face so clearly, the small smile and the emotionless eyes. “I recognize the handiwork.”
The sofa shifted: Sacha, standing up. Noam felt him put down his glass on the end table as well, the click of crystal on wood. His voice, when he spoke, was incredibly calm, such a departure from just a few moments ago that Noam got mental whiplash.
“You know, Lehrer,” Sacha said, “if you treated your toys better, maybe they wouldn’t break so badly.”
The silence that followed was lethal.
“You should leave.”
“Yes, I think perhaps you’re right. Thanks for the drink.”
Noam didn’t breathe until he heard Sacha’s footsteps retreat down the other hall and the study door open—then shut—behind him. Even then he didn’t move. In the sitting room, Lehrer stood. The nails in the soles of his shoes paced toward the window, then back again. Stopped.
Noam clutched the empty glass between both hands and shut his eyes.
“You can come out,” Lehrer’s voice said.
Noam sucked in a breath and opened the door with his power. His gaze met Lehrer’s as he stepped out into the hall, Lehrer silhouetted against the sitting room with his hands in his pockets.
Words tumbled in the back of Noam’s throat, but none felt right enough to say aloud. He put his glass down the first chance he got, Lehrer turning to allow Noam to move past him into the room.
“Sir,” Noam said, when he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“It won’t be long now,” Lehrer said. The tips of his fingers pressed against Noam’s back, right between his shoulder blades, propelling him the last few feet farther into the sitting room. Even that small contact was a rush akin to standing on a high peak, looking down. Noam shivered and hoped to god Lehrer didn’t notice. “We need to be prepared.”
“Brennan won’t let them riot,” Noam said.
“We’ll see about that.”
Lehrer’s hand fell away. In the absence of his touch, Noam felt both relieved and strangely bereft.
Noam turned to look at him, and Lehrer nodded. “Go on back to the barracks. I’ve kept you very late already, and you have basic in the morning.”
He said it like an apology. For that, Noam gave him a smile. “All right. Good night, then, sir.”
Dara was still awake when Noam got back. He sat alone in the den by the window, the book on his knee tilted toward the light. He looked up when Noam came in, folding down the corner of his page and slipping his feet off the seat cushion.
“Hey,” he said.
